The Prince Charming Affair
by RoseLight
Summary: Solo's mission, to enchant a princess


THE PRINCE CHARMING AFFAIR

ACT I "God Save the King"

"Presenting Her Serene Grace, Elspeth Marian Suzanne of Kent-on-Sterling."

Napoleon Solo felt the screws tighten behind his eyeballs. The tension of impersonating a middle-European royal like Godfrey Sebastian was giving him a headache.

Most courtiers and councilors were easy enough to fool: Godfrey had been absent from palace life for years, first away at school, then the mandatory naval training, and the last few years, jetsetting with a series of playmates and pals. Godfrey rarely attended to his own government's business. His family's loyal regents had tended to the kingdom during his prolonged adolescence.

"Tomorrow's the test," his voice had crackled over Channel D. "His—rather—my fiancée arrives to stay at the castle for a final week's preparation before our/their wedding and coronation."

"Wedding night jitters, Napoleon?" teased his partner from miles away.

"Stop giggling, Kuryakin. Just last week you promised to have the legitimate prince back on the throne before the ceremonies,"Solo reminded.

"Well, resistance has proved more difficult than anticipated. Never fear, dear Emperor, Slate and I will rescue you from impending matrimony. And if not, you may name your firstborn after us."

"God save the king," he had muttered, and clicked off.

Sebastian was a tiny kingdom, but economically and diplomatically vital to the region. The U.N.C.L.E. had been called in when their wandering ruler went missing. The family's trusted regents, Winslow and Purdy, did not know if the reluctant ruler was ducking out on his responsibilities as his ascendancy to the throne approached, or if he had been kidnapped in an effort to force his cousin Cedric to accept the crown.

Napoleon Solo bore a remarkable resemblance to the Playboy Prince. He was given a crash course in Sebastian culture in general, and in the prince's lifestyle in particular. Solo would hold Godfrey's place while Slate and Kuryakin corralled the future king.

Today's scheduled meeting had arrived without any encouraging news from the investigatory team.

Solo bowed at the waist and kissed her hand, gratified to feel a shiver travel down her arm. Then he glanced up and saw the contempt flash in her eyes.

"Your Grace…?"

"Don't feign surprise, Sir," the lady addressed him frostily. " Did you imagine I would not be regaled by tales of your exploits, even while I was at school? The gossips took great delight in sharing the tabloids with me. Your reckless behavior has humiliated your country, your family, and me. Don't worry," she responded quickly to the dismay that that crossed his face. " I know my duty. You'll have your bride, and your heir. All I hope for is your promise of discretion in the future."

"Oh, come, dear Elspeth," Solo tried to charm her smoothly, " let us speak of more pleasant matters…"

"Godfrey—yes, a fitting name for you. You live as if you were God-free, accountable to no one. Remember you rule by divine appointment."

"Gentle Elspeth…"

But Her Grace was just getting cranked up and had forgotten or ignored their audience. " At least if you were stupid, that would be forgivable. But the waste! I received your school reports in your regent's annual letters. You have a fine mind, when you choose to apply it. You are capable of strong, honest, compassionate leadership for your people, but instead—"

Solo attempted to regain control of the meeting. "You have a fair catalog of my faults. I look forward to learning yours. Until then, I stand duly chastised," he gave her an impish grin, mollified by a deep bow. "Is there something else…or perhaps, someone else? I would not stand in the way of your happiness."

"How can you be so cruel?" she marveled. " I've been promised to you since I was a child. When was there any opportunity to meet anyone else, with my regents pounding into my head that the honor and security of Sterling was my responsibility?"

Then she lowered her voice for his ears only. "I've loved you since I was 12 years old. And you knew. You simply didn't care." She turned her back on him scornfully and dashed from the room. Her lady-in-waiting curtsied to Solo and chased after her charge.

ACT II Positively scandalized

Solo dismissed the courtiers and once alone in the throne room, he dug out his communicator. "Open channel D…"

The familiar accent was welcome to his ears. "Kuryakin here."

"Hey, Illya, how much longer do I have to pose as Prince Charming?" His annoyance was met with chuckling.

"I never imagined it would be such a stretch for you."

"The council chamber is huffing and puffing for an annual budget. And my/his fiancée is miserable because of me/him."

"And you are always a sucker for a happy ending. Sorry, Napoleon, Mark and I are on the trail, but the target's not in sight yet. Ask your princess for help on the budget. Her grace earned a degree in finance and economics."

"You don't say."

It was a long-distance sigh. "Don't you ever read your homework? Or did you stop once you saw her photograph? London School of Economics, class of ' 68. There's a brain inside that pretty head, use it. Not that I would give the master any advice, but perhaps she needs to feel needed, useful, appreciated for more than her title and her smile."

Solo sighed. "I wouldn't know. She hasn't smiled yet."

"And I thought your degree was in Charm."

Solo closed out and went back to his parlor to study the dossier on his mission.

# # # # #

Two hours later he knocked at the grand guest suite. "Ah, Elspeth, your grace, I know this is a stressful time—ah—could we perhaps conduct a civilized conversation without a door between us?"

After a few patient moments, Solo was ushered into her presence. He made eye contact and nodded, but the lady-in-waiting continued to wait.

"Lady Digby is our chaperone," the princess reminded him. "She is required to stay with me—until we are safely married, of course." Her voice was so flat and lifeless whenever she referred to their wedding. It bothered Solo. Brides should be anticipating, not dreading that special day. Whatever Life/Duty/Godfrey had done to hurt her, Solo was determined to right it.

"I'm sorry," Elspeth said listlessly, "I don't have any preference about wedding details. Our regents will handle it, like everything else."

Solo took her hand, smiled genuinely. "I'm sorry the prospect of our union is so unpleasant to you. We all do our duty…"

Elspeth raised her eyebrows. "You speak of duty? It was your behavior that convinced the regents to change the age of ascendancy from 25 to 33."

Solo smiled back at her. "Well, maybe I, uh—wanted to enjoy life before I was weighted down with the vast responsibilities of the crown. But now I am prepared—"

"Prepared, or resigned?" She smiled more gently, engaging his eyes.

Solo tried again. "Maybe I was afraid I couldn't do what my people deserved. I'm still not sure I'll be a great king, but I believe I'll be a better one if I have you by my side."

The simple declaration, and his earnest, open gaze melted something inside her.

"I have some papers here," he opened the briefcase. "The last five years' budget, and national projections. I sure could use some help preparing the annual budget."

As Kuryakin predicted, her eyes lit up and she grabbed a pencil. Solo had discovered arithmetic as aphrodisiac.

# # # # #

There was a low, persistent knock at her door. "Elspeth—" he hissed. She hopped up before Lady Digby could be disturbed.

"Your Highness, what—"

"SShhh.. .dress warm and come on. We're going to ride over the hill and greet the sunrise." It was an invitation, not an order.

"You're quite mad, you know. I'll be down directly."

He had secured two sleek horses from the royal stable and they cantered down the wooded path toward a pink-clouded horizon.

"I love riding," she confided." It's the only time I feel free."

"Look," Napoleon pointed to the glowing sun creeping above the rise. "Every sunrise, new possibilities. Happy endings are nice, but happy beginnings are even better. I hope this will be a happy beginning for you, Elspeth."

"For us," she corrected softly, leaning forward in her saddle. Solo leaned across and tipped her chin toward him until their lips met gently. He was getting caught up in the fairy tale of his own weaving, but it was becoming important to him to keep her smiling.

"Do you suppose Lady Digby would be positively scandalized if I returned barefoot with wild flowers in my hair?" she asked.

"Positively."

Elspeth slid down the saddle, kicked off her shoes, and danced down the trail toward a gold and purple meadow.

"Promise me we'll start every morning like this," she threw handfuls of clover at his head.

Solo began to recite: " Take tenderly unto thy glowing heart,

The joy that beats like wings against the sky,

And cherish Laughter, with its gentle art,

And clasp the hands wherein your future lies.."

Elspeth stared at him, breathless. "That's...that's my poem. How did you-?"

"My regents got annual letters on you, too," he reminded her.

"But I never thought you bothered to read them. You kept my adolescent scribbling?"

" It won a prize. It was published in the school literary review. I memorized it."

Her eyes glistened. "Forgive me, Godfrey," she whispered and bowed her head. "I've been so ungracious to you since I arrived."

"My reputation preceded me, and that's my own fault," Solo-as-Godfrey confessed. " I have been spoiled and aimless and selfish. But you have given me a vision. I want to be a good king. I want to make your every sunrise joyful with possibilities," Solo-as-Solo promised.

A horseman crashed through the underbrush. "Found 'em, Milady," he bellowed back over his beefy shoulder.

Lady Digby trotted into the clearing, her scandalized expression sending Elspeth into gales of guilty giggles.

"Your grace, you caused us great distress. We feared for your safety," the royal chaperone scolded.

"And where could I be safer than beside my liege?" Solo's arm encircled her, and she smiled up at him, finally properly bride-like.

ACT III "We have plans"

If troubadours still roamed the earth, they would be singing of the stunning rescue and daring escape of the Playboy Prince. As it was 1972, some enterprising network executive would likely fabricate it into a television movie-of-the-week. Mark Slate, who fancied himself a wordsmith, would submit a particularly exciting chronicle to HQS.

"I've always squandered my privilege," the prince admitted to the agents over his first stout meal in two weeks. "Cousin Cedric was always the serious one, the steady one. The council would much prefer Cedric on the throne. So would Cedric. I never valued my birthright; duty was a drag. I always whined about walking away. But when Cedric challenged me to cede the crown to him, well," he gave a rueful smile, " something in me dug in. Strong. Stubborn. It surprised both of us. He calculated that physical danger would weaken my resolve. But in that cellar with nothing but darkness and memory and threats, it ignited my determination to regain my heritage. I pondered escape plans, yes, but grander, I began to envision how I was connected to generations of Sebastians who had affected history for good or ill; and how I could make a difference. I want that chance, Gentlemen." The fire kindled in his weary eyes.

"You shall have it, Sir," Slate, the devoted monarchist, clasped his hand.

Kuryakin dialed channel D. "Czar to Emperor. Our party of three tarries in a picturesque country inn on your western border. You may plan our triumphant procession for noon tomorrow."

"Eh… really no rush, Czar. Take your time. Let your passenger recover from his ordeal. Everything here under control. Don't hurry home on my account."

"Napoleon-" Illya addressed his partner sternly. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing…" he replied guiltily. "It's just, well, we have plans."

"So do we."

Solo attempted to recapture his professional approach. "Look, we need to make the exchange smoothly."

"Agreed. And as soon as possible." Kuryakin waited. Solo did not respond. Kuryakin relented. "All right, we'll sleep in, have a brunch fit for a future king, and creep into town just before tea. You create some time in your plans for debriefing," the junior partner ordered.

"Illya, I need to meet him. I need to talk to him. Please. It's important."

ACT IV Don't pout…don't panic…don't pretend

Three days later in NYC-HQS

"Cor, those Sebastians sure know how to celebrate!" raved Mark Slate on his way down the halls.

"Hmf." Solo, who had preceded his colleagues back to New York by several days, feigned disinterest.

Kuryakin poked his head into the office. "I come bearing coffee. Sorry you weren't invited to the wedding or the coronation ball, Napoleon. But it simply wouldn't do, to have the entire population suddenly seeing double," Illya reasoned.

"I work my tail off to produce the perfect royal wedding, pass an annual budget without a tax increase, decree a major education reform—without so much as a thank you or a piece of cake," Solo groused.

"Don't pout. I take it your audience with the king was satisfactory?"

"Yeah. I guess." Solo agreed reluctantly. " He's OK. I just needed to give him a bride-briefing before I handed her off."

"I thought the expression was 'to give the bride away,'" Kuryakin corrected curiously.

"Whatever."

"Uneasy lies the heart that wears the crown," Illya said quietly.

Solo's ears pricked up. "I never thought I'd hear you misquote the Bard."

"Not misquote, merely paraphrase." He paused. " Ah, Napoleon, I am wrestling with telling you something."

" ' Discretion is the better part of valor.' Also Shakespeare. And correctly quoted," Solo said smugly.

"She knows you're not Godfrey."

Solo finally turned to give Kuryakin his full and undivided attention.

"She could put a name to every face at the ball—except Mark's and mine, of course. How I do admire people who do their homework."

Solo glared.

"Sorry, I digress. Don't panic. She doesn't know who you are, or what you do. In fact, she assumed you were a practical joke of her husband's. Seems he had the reputation as quite the prankster, prior to his recent epiphany. Anyway, she sought me out to employ me as carrier pigeon."

He handed Solo a wisp of silk with her embroidered monogram. Inside the scented hanky was a silver-struck medallion. "She referred to it as the Order of the Joyful Sunrise, and specified it should be worn on the dress uniform over the heart."

Solo held the medal between his fingers and stared at it for a full minute. Then he tossed it in his top drawer and closed it slowly.

"My dress uniform's at the cleaner's." He turned back to his paperwork.

finis


End file.
